Little Things
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: Sometimes the best birthday gifts are the ones you don't wait to give or receive.  Warning: Slash, so adults only please.


Title: Little Things Mean a Lot  
>Author: Spikesgirl58<br>Rating: R  
>Prompt: someone had a birthday<br>Warnings: The usual slash warning, field rations, and massages  
>Genre: slash<br>Acknowledgments/Notes: My thanks to my Betas, GeorgiaMagnolia and Sparky who broke speed records getting this one back to me so the birthday girl didn't have to wait for her gift.  
>Disclaimer: MFU does not belong to me and no money was made with this.<p>

One of the nice things about being close to someone is knowing things the rest of the world never suspects. Take my partner, for instance. Illya Kuryakin had been assigned to the UNCLE New York branch and had taken two steps across Del Floria's threshold before his reputation took over. The Ice Prince, some of the secretaries called him. Merciless and dead inside were some of the descriptions passed along to me. I had the honor of being his first partner stateside. Within twenty four hours, I could tell you he was about as much as dead inside and merciless as the Pillsbury Dough Boy is a mad killer. Yet, it was a persona that he projected and I picked up on that pretty quickly as well. It took Illya awhile to warm up to people, but once he did, he was a steady and trustworthy friend.

It wasn't that long after that that I fell in love with him. All one sided, I assure you , and I never let on. I slept with women, my bed was never cold for long and yet it never welcomed the one person I wanted the most. Illya was not like that though. He never really seemed to care about sex at all. I knew he had it and on a pretty regular basis, if the evidence I spotted in the locker room was to be believed. But he didn't offer and I didn't ask.

At that point, I decided that while I would never have Illya as a lover, I was determined to be the best friend I could be. I did that in little ways, giving him a bad time if only to make him smile, letting him nick food off my plate and pretend not to notice. And birthdays.

Okay, so kick me, I like dates. I like that some days are destined for greatness, both good and bad and with a name like Napoleon, history is just sort of in my blood... Some days never live up to their potential, while others just explode with importance. Illya never seemed to say much about birthdays, but I was determined to let him know I hadn't forgotten.

The first birthday I spent with my partner was a colorful one. We'd gone in to eliminate a target, i.e. a THRUSH bad guy, and to shut down operations. We surveyed the region, found a small cave which offered us some protection and a meeting place if we got separated. We dropped our packs there. We also stowed away some firewood, as the weather forecast didn't look promising, and we went about our business.

Of course, we were captured and of course we escaped, but in the process we got separated, as we knew we might. I got clear of the place and headed back to the cave. With the wind and driving rain, it took longer than I expected and I'd hoped that Illya was already there, fire started, bitching that he'd been waiting for hours for me to turn up.

He wasn't and a little knot twisted in my stomach. I liked my pernicious, slightly caustic partner, hell, I loved him, but that's just between me and thee. Fire started, I dug some field rations from our packs and started warming up something laughingly referred to as beef stroganoff and another slightly more recognizable as chicken stew. I knew Illya would be ravenous when he showed up – I refused to use the word if.

I'd gotten out of my sopping clothes and changed into some dry fatigues when a noise alerted me. I knew the fire wasn't big enough to attract attention, but there was always the chance that this was some four footed creature's home.

Instead, and delightfully, it was my partner, looking a little worse for the wear, but still alive and kicking.

"Finally," I muttered, watching him limp to the fire and hold his baseball mitt size hands close to it. I ignored that they were trembling. "What took you so long?"

"I left them a little going away present." He sunk to his knees and took a deep breath before starting to strip off his camouflage jacket. His dark tee shirt glistened and at first I was worried that he received a mortal wound, but it was just the rain. He was banged up, as was I, but nothing severe.

He changed and we ate, making disparaging comments along the way, but I noticed there was nothing left when we finished. I got a couple of cans of fruit cocktail opened for dessert and those disappeared as well. Then we started on the crackers and the thick salty peanut butter. These meals were designed to be high in carbohydrates and protein and we were determined to not miss a calorie-packed morsels. We'd need it for our hike back out.

That's when it struck me. It was Illya's birthday. I glanced over at him, his eyes half closed as he chewed. He tended to enjoy anything he ate , from the finest food to these almost stale crackers. I took a cracker, dabbed a small amount of peanut butter on the middle of it, and stuck in a cigarette. Then I handed it to him and he took it with a cocked eyebrow.

"Many happy returns," I said, lifting my canteen to him. "I'd light it, but I think that cigarette would be better smoked."

"Thank you and I would agree." And so we did and the other two that came with the kit. Adrenaline makes you do strange things.

In spite of the dry clothes and the fire it was still chilly in the cave. We rolled out our sleeping bags, such as they were, and stretched out. I shivered and glanced over at our stockpile of wood. It would be good to throw more onto the fire, but we had to be conservative.

The ground suddenly trembled and I frowned. Being trapped in a cave in an earthquake was not my idea of a good time.

"Earthquake?" I murmured.

"Kuryakin," Illya murmured back and I grinned in spite of everything. The boy did enjoy blowing things up. He watched me for a moment and then added. "Are you cold?"

"Just a little. I don't have antifreeze for blood." It was a standing joke between us and he opened his sleeping bag. I hesitated, not sure if I could handle being that close to him, but the chill won out and I spooned up against him. "Jesus, Illya, you're like a thermal heater."

"So I've been told by my siblings. They used to love to crawl into bed with me in the winter. Besides this is the least I can do after that lovely birthday cake." His arm reached over me and pulled my sleeping bag closer. With his breath warm on the back of my neck and the heat of his body, sleep claimed me far sooner than I'd have liked.

Roll ahead a few years now. We'd split a dozen birthdays between us, some of them a bit more traditional than others. The last one, however, had been the worst. I'd been in the tender ministrations of a crazed THRUSH. How we determine who is crazed and who is just regular THRUSH is really a matter of personal determination. Trust me, this guy was insane from the curly black hair on his head down to the curly black hair on his toes.

He'd long abandoned pumping me for information and was toying with me, not killing me, but making me sincerely wish he would. I'd nearly given up when Illya found me, almost took a powder a couple of times on the trip from my cell to the hospital room that I ended up in, or so I was told later.

It was a steady _beep, beep_ that woke me and for an instant, I wanted to swear at the communicator for taking me out of my protective cocoon of sleep. For a moment, I teetered on the edge and then felt a gentle pressure on my arm. It was warm and familiar and I struggled to get my eyes open.

Illya was sitting beside the hospital bed, hand resting on my arm, squeezing every few second, a way to keep me connected? Or an encouragement to draw upon his strength? I wasn't sure, but it looked as if he'd been at it for awhile, if the whiskers and the bags under his eyes were any indication.

I let my head rolled towards him and touched his hand with my free one. His head, which had been dipped, as if in prayer, shot up and he grinned.

"It's about time," he said, his voice lightly chastising me.

"Sorry." My own voice was hoarse and I'd guess I'd been on a ventilator at some point.

"Blockhead," he muttered, covering my hand with his and squeezing again. Then he was off to find a doctor or nurse or someone.

They came and did what they had to, which was uncomfortable to say the least, but any protest I might have had to my mishandling went unheeded. And at some point, I asked what day it was. I'd been losing track of the time in great clumps. September 19th, Illya's birthday, was life crazy or what?

He came back after they left, promising to get some rest and letting me do the same.

"How are you feeling?"

"Lousy." I didn't have to be brave with him and that was a pleasure in itself. "And I didn't have a chance to get you a birthday gift."

He got a goofy expression on his face, then leaned over and kissed my forehead, the way a mother would a child. "Yes, you did."

I felt that kiss long after the nurse dragged him out, before I succumbed to the pain killers and sedatives. Or was there something more to that kiss? It was a pleasant thing to contemplate.

March came crawling in, heralding some of the worst storms the city had ever seen. If the old adage _in like a lion, out like a lamb_, held true, the lamb would have to be dead to make up for it. Waverly had been separating us for no other reason than his own, so when I walked into the office and saw a cup of coffee and a Danish sitting on the corner of my desk, I started grinning like an idiot. Yes, folks, Illya was in the building… but where?

It didn't take a brain trust to figure it out. We were getting older, not quite at the cutoff point, but I could tell things were shifting. It took just a second longer to react, a little bit longer to recover, the 'out of the field by forty' rule was starting to make sense, but most Sections Twos, well, we don't get here because we have common sense oozing out our ears. We're highly competitive and to compete, we had to stay in top form.

I followed the path of broken equipment and moaning sparring partners and found Illya getting a rub down. I slapped Frank on the shoulder and nodded to the door. Without a word, he withdrew and I took his place. There was a towel modestly covering Illya's backside and I wondered his reaction would be if I was to whip it off and fulfill a long-held fantasy.

"Frank, either you're getting tired , or hello, Napoleon." Illya didn't move a muscle. He'd devolved into a lump of relaxation.

"Thanks for the coffee and pastry." I didn't break my motion, working a knot out of a muscle. "How about dinner tonight? Maybe Luchows?"

"Are you sure? Usually you have a date the night of the day you hit town." Reality was my dating was slowing down as well. I just wasn't in the mood for what I could get and too cautious to take what I wanted with a male prostitute. It wasn't worth the effort.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'll pick you up around seven?"

"Make it earlier," he murmured, almost asleep by now. "I'm going to be hungry."

And he was. Even though he no longer sported a nineteen inch waist, he still ate as if he did. It was starting to catch up with him and if he didn't change when he hit forty, things were going to be very eye opening and not in a good way. But tonight, it didn't matter. We ate, we drank and then we headed back to my place for a nightcap. Illya's place would have made more sense, but he only kept vodka in his freezer and a bottle of scotch in a cupboard. I wanted neither tonight. Of course, what I really wanted I wasn't going to get, so I settled for some Napoleon brandy, while Illya shifted to port.

"Good?" I asked settling down beside him in my favorite wingback chair.

"Nearly," he murmured, finishing the port and pouring another glass. If it had been anyone else, I would say it looked as if he was working up the nerve to ask me something, but this was Illya.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"I'm tired, Napoleon." His head rolled towards me and he did look worn down.

At first, I thought he meant he was physically tired and ready to call it a night. Then I thought he meant of the job, which didn't seem likely. "What can I do to help?"

He smiled and turned away so I was studying his profile. "I'm tired of pretending and getting mixed signals. I'm tired of playing games vs. living in reality." He took a deep breath and turned back. "Do you love me?"

"Of course. You're my partner, my friend, the brother I never had…"

"That's not what I mean and you know that. Napoleon, do you love me?"

"If I say no, then what?"

"I'm going to apply for a transfer. To London or back home, I don't care. I can't keep this up any more."

"Then I suppose the answer is yes." I smiled and he studied me for a long moment, judging my words and possibly my commitment. He stood and held out his hand. I took it readily and pulled him towards me. Our first kiss was hesitant, as if giving the other a moment to reconsider, then something much more primal and desperate took over. I acted upon a desire I'd been storing up for a very long time.

Our hands took on a life of their own, moving in ways that I would never have thought possible just a few hours earlier. There was no time to reach the bed, there was no time for much more than ripping off clothes and madly exploring previously forbidden territory.

I somehow ended up on the bottom, not a position I favored, well, until now. Illya's mouth was traveling down my body, his tongue exploring me in a way that I hoped he never tired of. At the same time, I was struggling to keep from ejaculating all over the side of his head.

When his tongue touched the tip of my penis, I moaned, ready to face a merciful death. He pulled back and blew slightly, then licked and blew again.

"What are you doing? Are you trying to kill me?" My voice had raised an octave and it was going to be a do or die situation in a few seconds.

"Isn't it customary to blow out one's candle prior to eating the cake?"

It took my poor overdriven mind a second to process the words, but it was too late to do anything more than tangle my fingers into his long blond hair and hold on as he took me full into his mouth. Oh, the sheer delight was closer to pain and I was out of the starter's block before he could even fire his pistol.

"I am going to assume the next time will take a bit more of a build up?" He was diligently cleaning me with his tongue while I waited for the little fire bursts to stop snapping through my nerves. I made some noise and felt Illya still on the move, his fingers moving lower and more intimately.

His fingers were slick, but I didn't know with what. Honestly I didn't care. When the first one nudged into me, I was ready to tilt my head back and start singing. When he added a second, my penis was awake and looking around to see what the hell was going on.

"Roll over," Illya wasn't asking any longer and I could see by his eyes that he wasn't about to worry about niceties any more. I'd had my little skyrocket trip, he was still rock hard and anxious.

It had been awhile and frankly when he swapped fingers for dick, I thought I was going to split in half. It hurt so good, I was torn between trying to escape and pressing back for more.

He encircled my waist with his other hand, cutting off that escape route, so I held still until his body nestled against mine more intimately than anyone else had in quite some time. He withdrew slightly and nicked my prostate. That brought a grumble from me and he did it again.

"There you are." He leaned back and began to move. I had no other choice than to hold on and go along for the ride. He got one hand around me and worked my penis until there was nothing left to do but climax and he was right behind me, both figuratively and physically.

I dropped to the floor, wincing at the roughness of the carpet. I was going to have the rug burns from Hell on my knees. I rolled so that I could meet Illya's eyes for the first time since we'd started on this rollercoaster.

They were half closed, but I could tell he was far from done. I only hoped there would be something left of me in the morning.

Oh God, morning. I had no choice but to call in and it didn't take very much persuasion to convince Illya to do the same. Neither of us was open for business as it were, but it felt good to lie in each other's arms and listen to the wind howl outside.

"Would you have really left New York last night?" I brushed my fingers through his sleep and sex tousled hair, delighted to finally have to freedom to touch him as I had so long desired.

"Yes, for to have stayed here longer without your love would have broken me." Trust my partner to not mince words. "For the record, however, I am glad you said yes." He settled back against me. "What do we do now?"

"Sleep?" I was hopeful although I fully expected him to demand I get up and at least make coffee.

"Blockhead," he mumbled. "I meant about us. This changes everything."

"How's that?"

"When THRUSH finds out, and you know they will, they will use it against us."

"Illya, THRUSH has thought we've been in exactly this position for years. We were just a little slow to follow their lead. As for Waverly, as long as it doesn't interfere with our performance –" I was interrupted by his snort. "Our on the job performance, he doesn't care what we do in our off hours."

"I hope you are right because I am not about to go back to sleeping alone." He burrowed down into the sheet and grunted as my cold feet found warm skin. "Or perhaps I was hasty in my decision."

"You know what they say." I wrapped my less-than-warm hand around his dick and he hissed. "Cold hands, warm heart." And decided that the best birthday presents are the ones you don't have to wait for.


End file.
